Thunderspire was a bust. Hearing rumors of a lost, tropical continent in the southern seas, Horns of War booked passage on a southbound sailing vessel. After some bribery and subtle coercion we had convinced the captain that an exploratory voyage to this mysterious jungle land would be an excellent idea. Pack your bags gentle readers we are going on a cruise. Drinks with little umbrellas in them, half naked island folk, coconut bikini tops, this would be the best trip ever.

Sadly, adventurers cannot ride on boats without something awful happening to them and this trip would be no different. As an aside, why on earth would any non-suicidal captain even allow adventurers aboard any ship, ever?

Regardless, several weeks, yes, weeks… it takes forever to get anywhere with a stupid boat, teleportation WHERE ART THOU!?!?! Where was I? Yes, several weeks into the journey, the occasional storm, and a dragon turtle sighting later we hit an aqua speed bump. Another ship came into view, under a veil of ocean mist, under the flag of piracy! Aboard this rival vessel was a crew of ninja pirates. (I am not making this up, though they could have been pirate ninjas for all I know). They began a siege against our small, but sturdy ship; ninjas flying through the air, fire, death, bedlam. Just for flavor, a storm rolled in, lightening splitting the sky, illuminating the epic sea battle. Thunder began rolling across waves to shake the burning timbers of the ships. But wait, it gets even better.

A whirlpool began to form at least a dozen ships wide, funneling down, down, down into the inky darkness of the endless sea bottom. Both vessels, heroic and ninja, were now caught in this behemoth spiral! You might want to sit down, because there is more. One after another pillars of sinuous pink flesh each four times as thick as the main mast burst forth from the water surrounding the two ships. Someone yelled (probably Captain Obvious himself), “KRACKEN!” The kracken began savaging the ships, and at that the fight between ninja pirates and Horns of War was a moot point. I found the most authorative looking ninja and told him, “Look, Yoshi Blackbeard, or whatever your name happens to be, we have to work together or we are all squid snacks.”

Nodding his accent we lashed our two ships together, combined sails and skill, dropped all available cargo, including the gun powder barrels (which we blew up in the kracken’s face), and crested the edge of the whirlpool. Daring escape? You know it. But now the chase was on, a chase we were sure to lose, with the kracken jetting after us, there was little hope for our survival. Or was there?

It turned out the ninja pirates lived on a floating island, probably a turtle, I never confirmed this, but on this island was a powerful sea dragon. Well, he was a territorial fellow apparently, because as soon as the Kracken jetted too close the fight was on. Popcorn, peanuts, it was a Godzilla-esque super battle like I had never seen, in fact the two titans fought for HOURS, 7 to be precise, and again I swear to you I am not making this up.

Eventually our deadly towering monster of death was the victor, tired from the battle and its wounds it returned to its lair to rest. Horns of War then paid tribute the beast by donating all their available coinage and gems… and residium… *sigh* Look, it was that or be fed to the dragon. So we celebrated, huge party, 7 days long. Restocked our supplies (hey look at that we are totally broke) checked our heading, mapped the charts, scurvied the dog, shivered a timber, insert more nautical terms here, and two weeks later made landfall on the beaches of the southern continent, who as it turns out was having some trouble with snakes…

Well, I have to admit, Horns of War was a little pissed off. Here they are, rolling up into the remote mountains, delving into the earth to bring some aid and succor to a community in need, and what do they get? A xenophobic, paranoid, power-hungry, fear mongering, barrel of fuckery. Pardon my Elven. So the second in command of the local government is secretly supporting the Blood Klown Klan? Not hard to imagine how this played out. You secretly raise a little rabble, something to scare the common folk, put that fear back in them so they hide under the skirts of local government. Use this propaganda to discredit your rivals, while playing up your strengths. Until, like that baby basilisk you bought at the fair, it grows into a bigger beast than you can handle.

So now the Blood Klowns are operating independently of Anklyar, using the resources he gave them in a campaign to take over all of Thunderspire labyrinth. Good show boys, good show. Sadly for you, there has been a hefty price laid on your heads, and a certain Horns of War reputation dragged through the muck. Killing your leader will not only bag some coin, but more importantly clear our names.

And that, gentle readers is what we did.

Hell have no fury like The Horns of War venting some stress after being betrayed, falsely accused, tried, and nearly imprisoned.

We left a trail of carnage, brains, gore, shattered skulls, frozen flesh, ash, melty bits, and urine stains throughout the Blood Klown Klan’s secret stronghold. Hobgoblin guts mingled freely, with shattered rogue minotaur horns, exploded duergar, and the odd burninated human. If anything, it was racial harmony on a unparralleled scale. When we finally cornered their leader, there was no parley, there was no “talk it out.” We killed his guards, captured him, forced a confession, implemented Anklyar, cleared our names, and clocked out for the day.

The city of Thunderspire then proceeded to fail, in both their level of sorrow at mistaking us for villains, and in the rewarding of bountiful loots and prizes. In fact, they had the nerve to mention needing even more help against a cabal of demon worshipping gnolls, and a tribe of evil minotaurs claiming rights to the city and all lands in the labyrinth. Well, gentle reader, what can I say? Hearing of this further blight upon the fair denizens of Thunderspire, I was moved to action. I turned my beautiful face towards the city leader, highest wizardess of the tower council, locking eyes with her I heroically said,

This body has potential, unlimited potential really. The unique composition of living, organic materials, and cold inorganic minerals allows for growth, storage, and customization that would be life threatening, if not outright impossible on a purely organic body. But the process, the growth, is glacier slow.

The demon is speaking at us. She always does this, as if speech is the means by which her body processes oxygen. We stare at her blankly. She huffs indignantly. We are neither rude, nor “stupid” as she often calls us. Just slow, this body is new, this mind, nothing but wood and sand. Sensing she needs acknowledgment, we nod, our metallic head pivoting on an infrastructure of fibrous vines and cables.

She is like mother to this form. Abandoned long ago to rot and rust, entombed in the crypt of its final masters as a guardian. We were reborn within its failing body, trapped, stillborn. Our essence the spark of life it needed to rise again, the body went on a rampage. Sorrow, loss, confusion, malfunction. This body vented these “feelings” on its surroundings. It carved a path of destruction and death. We rode as passengers, powerless, watching, our growth too slow to establish control.

Then she appeared, with her unusual companions. They fought the body, but their efforts seemed in vain. With silver tongue and razor wits, the demon began to soothe the raging machine. The body relented, submitted, and in some strange twist of fate imprinted upon her.

It now insists on following her about, like a baby duckling, and we are generally inclined to allow this. We need time after all; time to grow.